


It's a Wonderful Life

by DarkMoon26



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:32:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkMoon26/pseuds/DarkMoon26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone deserves an angel for Christmas, especially the unfortunate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Wonderful Life

Castiel Novak had a Christmas tradition, going back farther than he could remember.  Every year for the holidays he volunteered at a soup kitchen—sometimes with his family but most of the time now with just himself—and every year he always tried to do one selfless act.  Of course working at the soup kitchen was selfless, but he tried to do one other special act during the holidays.  However, so far, this year he hadn’t found that one act to give out yet.  Normally he liked to make the act personal, special for one specific person or groups of persons that he had met, but more times than not he resorted to donating his time and money.  Specifically donating money to families or shop for someone’s family for Christmas or donate food to a family in need, but he didn’t want to just do that this year.  He was searching, searching for that special spark that meant his services were needed to a more worthwhile and personal cause, not to say that what he normally did wasn’t worthwhile, it was, of course it was.  But this year he wanted to do something _more_ , something life changing as he had the means.  He wanted his services to truly matter.  Maybe wanting this meant he wasn’t as selfless as he thought he was being?

It was now Christmas Eve and it was late into the night when he left the soup kitchen to make his way home.  The streetlamps cast golden halos of light to the ground against the dark of the night and snow fell in flurries from the heavens to the fresh two inches already waiting.  It was also bitter cold—so cold that the very air he inhaled burned his lungs, making his breath catch and his nostrils to freeze together.  Rubbing his hands together, he breathed into them—wisps of exhalation floating in the air before him in a blanket—before he pulled on his knit hat and black leather gloves to prepare for the walk home a few blocks away.

It was only when he was rounding the corner that he noticed a figure hunched over in a doorway.  Frowning, he turned around on the empty street and caught a flash of green eyes and the sheen of a leather jacket from the doorway light.

“What are you looking at?”  The figure asked with hostility in his voice, a hostility born from years of pain.  The figure grew to his full height as Castiel watched him.  Castiel saw that the voice came from a boy, barely any older than eighteen, and that he wasn’t at all properly attired for this weather.  The temperature was only supposed to keep dropping as the night went on and right now the wind chill was reaching below zero.  He would surely freeze to death if he stayed outside.  “Why don’t you just take a picture?”  The boy added sardonically as his perfect stature was interrupted by a tremor and an adjust to his bag slung behind his back.

Castiel knew what he was doing was idiotic.  He worked in a soup kitchen after all so he knew what was acceptable and what wasn’t.  He knew one should never stare or make eye contact with a homeless person, and he knew this boy was definitely homeless.  No one who was sensible would be hunkering down in a doorway on Christmas Eve, wearing nothing but a leather coat, could be anything less.  Plus, Castiel wanted to say that he recognized the boy from the soup kitchen earlier in the evening.  The green eyes were hard to miss as was the unruly head of dirty blond hair and brown leather jacket.  It was also hard to miss how clean he appeared compared to the other homeless people or how ill prepared he had seemed.  It was obvious this boy was newly homeless, maybe for only a week if that.

Castiel felt his heart expand for the boy in front of him, which by all means was even more idiotic, as he didn’t know a single thing about the boy.  He could be dangerous for all he knew.  But he was nothing if not a bleeding heart.

“How come you aren’t at a shelter?”  He inquired with a tilt to his head, his breath causing more wisps of air to float before him, reminiscent of cigarette smoke.

“What’s it to you?”  The boy replied in a hardened voice as he jammed his bare hands into his pockets.

Castiel shrugged.  “I’m just curious.”

The boy opened and closed his mouth as if he was going to say something really nasty but decided against it.  Instead he angrily and exasperatedly said, “Mister you are barking up the wrong tree.  You’re going to have to get your Christmas jollies off with some other twink.”

Castiel took a step back in surprise, brows furrowed in confusion, spluttering.  “I’m—I’m not looking to get my ‘Christmas jollies off’ with anyone.  It was just an innocent question.”

The boy snorted in response.  “Yeah whatever, dude.”  He pulled a hand out of his pocket and retrieved a slightly bent cigarette before lighting it with shaking, red-raw fingers.  “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Castiel ignored his derisive tone.  “Were all of the shelters full?”  He asked again.

The boy rolled his eyes and took a drag, but didn’t respond as he paced the entryway he was stationed in, trying to get warm.  However, that was the only response he needed.  The boy obviously had nowhere to go.

Castiel knew he should just move on, maybe give the boy enough money for a motel room and a hot breakfast, and be done with him but for some reason he just couldn’t.  Maybe it was the Christmas spirit?  Maybe it was his soft heart?  Either way he was raised to be charitable, to be helpful, especially during the holidays and when people are going through rough times.  The holidays definitely combined both as it was after all the hardest for people to get by.

“Do you have any place to go tonight?”  He found himself asking.

The boy turned to him head on and gave him a hard look.  It was the most _Are you fucking kidding me_ looks he’d ever bared witness to.  “Would I be out here if I did?  Every place is closed.  Can’t even get a cup of joe to warm up with.”

A thought suddenly occurred to him.  “I know a place.  It’s still open too.  My brother owns it.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?  You could be a rapist or a murderer for all I know,” he replied in bemusement and barely concealed wariness.

It was now Castiel’s turn to snort.  “And you could be a money grubbing thief for all I know.”

The boy raised an eyebrow before lowering his eyes in a way that clearly said _Touché, I guess you got me there_.  “Look, I’m not looking for charity.”

Castiel gave the boy his most deadpan look.  “It’s not charity, it’s Christmas.”

“Oh, so you’re one of those sorts, huh?  Gonna convert me too?”  He snorted with a shake of his head as he took another drag, smoke leaking out from between his chapped lips.  “Sorry, but I’m already going to Hell.”

Castiel’s eyebrows furrowed as those words sunk in, making him immensely sad.  “No, you’re not.”

The boy held up a finger.  “Ah, but my father says so.”  He bitterly chuckled.

“I don’t believe that for a second.”  And he truly didn’t, because the more Castiel studied the boy the more he was convinced the boy was a good person underneath his tough exterior and was only out on the street because of some crappy hand he was dealt.  And Castiel was an excellent judge of character in people.  “Come on, it’s only a hot drink and a warm place to sit down in until closing time,” he offered again as he dislodged his cap to scratch at his head from where the knit was irritating him.

The boy leaned against the brick wall of the doorway, cigarette to his lips, foot propped up against the wall behind him.  “Hey…I recognize you…you were at the soup kitchen weren’t you?”  He asked with an open look upon his face before it quickly changed into a waggle of his eyebrows and a cocky smile, although Castiel couldn’t for the life of him understand what the boy had to be cocky over, but deduced it was only a mask and Castiel was wearing him down.

Castiel held out his hand and walked over to the boy.  “I’m Castiel.”  He offered his hand until the boy gripped his, although he didn’t offer Castiel his name, not yet at least.

The boy smiled at the sound of Castiel’s name, but this time it was more warm than arrogant.  “Castiel, huh?  That’s an angel’s name ain’t it?”

Castiel blinked in answer.

“So…Cas…” he began, rocking on the balls of his feet, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.  “Are you my guardian angel?”

Castiel’s eyes bulged and heat rose in his face at what he was pretty sure was a pick-up line.  “Um…”

The boy stepped off the steps leading down to the snow covered walkway and clapped Castiel on the shoulder with a familiarity that was out of place.  It was familiar in a way as if they had known each other for years rather than ten minutes.  He looked down at Castiel with a look he couldn’t recognize—it could only be described as warm and friendly but there was something else there too, something…vulnerable.

“I’m Dean, by the way,” the boy replied, hand rubbing on the back of his neck, uncomfortably.  “I know I’m going to regret this, it goes against everything…but sure I’d—I’d like the cup of coffee if you still want…”

“Yes!”  Castiel nearly yelled in surprise, joy filling him for some unfathomable reason.  Flushing, Castiel added, “I don’t think you’ll regret it.”  And he was going to make damn sure the boy didn’t, even if he had to offer the boy his couch above his brother’s coffee shop.

Dean smiled a smile that looked fond and slightly overwhelmed, which was quite the change from his surly and overconfident demeanor a few minutes ago.  “Okay Clarence, lead the way.”

And as chance would have it Dean did find a guardian angel in Castiel on that Christmas Eve night.


End file.
